


Check, please!

by Elder_Higgins



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute, M/M, Minor Albert Dasilva/Finch, Picky Eaters, Short One Shot, Walmart, date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elder_Higgins/pseuds/Elder_Higgins
Summary: Race and Spot go on a date. Spot's a picky eater. Chaos ensues.





	Check, please!

“Don’t be stubborn. Try it!” Race sat across the table from Spot, he was almost positive both their faces would be stuck in a scowl for the rest of the week. 

It had started out as a cute date idea. They both go to Walmart and pick out one another’s outfits, then they go out to eat and pick each other’s meals, finally they each pick a show or movie to watch. 

One problem, Spot was a picky eater and stubborn as a bull. Race was equally as stubborn. They’d be lucky to even make it past the meal portion of the date. 

So far it had taken fifteen minutes of Race explaining the dish for Spot to even feel comfortable sniffing it. 

“I's don’t like it.” 

Race groaned. “Oh my god, Spot. You haven’t even tried it.” 

“I's don’t have ta ta know I's won’t like it.” 

Race rolled his eyes. As an Italian from a big family, food was a central part of his life. He couldn’t remember a time where he visited a family member and good food wasn’t a central aspect. It could be a simple visit or Christmas. Holidays were as much about the meals served as they were enjoying time with family. 

Not only that, but he was going to school to become a chef. Being picky wasn’t an option in his profession. Food had shaped his life. Apparently, the same had not been done to Spot, who pushed the plate away with a gag. “I’m gettin' chicken tenders,” he said, turning to locate their water. 

“Oh my god, Sean, no.” The embarrassment in Race’s voice was obvious and pairing it with the use of Spot’s formal name only made Spot more determined to order those chicken tenders. “This is a nice restaurant and you’re acting like you’re five years old.” 

“Well I's don’t know what’s even in this!” He gestured towards the plate with such aggression Race was almost convinced he was serving him poison rather than lobster mac and cheese. 

Race pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve told you three times. It’s mac and cheese but they use three different types of cheeses- don’t make that face, I know for a fact you love cheese- with lobster and bread crumbs on top. There is literally nothing in there that you don’t eat.” 

The entire process was aggravating. Usually Race would cave and let Spit order whatever he would actually eat, but chicken tenders was not going to fly today. Spot came up with the date idea. He would have to suck it up and finish the date the way it was intended. 

“The bread crumbs are goin' ta give it a weird texture,” Spot pouted. He slouched in his seat, arms crossed, and wrinkling his brand-new Walmart-brand dress shirt. Convincing him to wear something other than a cotton T-shirt or a muscle tee had been equally as difficult as convincing him to take a bite of this Mac and Cheese. Still, Race had to give Spot credit for his stubbornness, it developed into a fierce loyalty that he had never experienced with another person. 

“The bread crumbs are the texture!” Race’s voice was rising now, drawing confused glances from the diners. He hushed, leaning across the table towards Spot. “Just try it. Pleaseeeee, for me.” 

He could see Spot’s resolve crumbling at the begging and puppy dog eyes. Race’s own meal, eggplant parmesan, had gone cold. This entire ordeal would be worth it if he could just get Spot to take one bite of his meal. 

Spot eyed the dish warily. For the thousandth time that evening he poked at the mac and cheese with his fork, but never actually prepared a bite. “What’s in it for me?” 

Of course, everything had to be some sort of competition or negotiation with Spot. What pissed Race off even more was how much he loved Spot for it. Everything was always more interesting that way. 

“A new experience,” Race chuckled, but Spot was not laughing. “Oh c’mon, you can’t be serious.” 

The look on his face told Race that Spot, was in fact, serious. 

“I’ll let you pick the movie.” 

“We's both know I's was gonna to do that anyway.” That was true, Spot had an amazing taste in movies. He could have no clue what it was even about but give him a list and he’d pick the most entertaining out of all of them. Race was partially convinced Spot had been a wizard in a past life. 

“I’ll cook you whatever you want for dinner for a week.” 

“You's do that anyway.” Spot smirked. The only way this conversation would end was with Race sacrificing something. Might as well make it a pleasurable sacrifice. 

“You can take a shower with me when we get home.” That peaked Spot’s interest. His eyebrows shot up and he speared some lobster and noodles onto his utensil, but his fork did not move. “If you clean that bowl we might even have to take two showers. You know, after I’ve let you have your way with me.” 

“What if this makes me sick ta my stomach an' we's can’t have fun later?” He said. 

Now Spot was just fucking with him for the sole purpose of pissing him off and Race, as usual, took the bait. “Jesus Christ, Spot. I’m offering some twisted version of food prostitution to you and somehow you manage to–” Race blinked, cutting himself off as he watched Spot take a bite. “How is it?” 

Spot grinned at him. “Tasty.” 

He kept shoveling food into his mouth. Race chuckled and dig into his own meal, which had gone cold, but he didn’t mind. Spot seemed content enough with cold mac and cheese, so he could make due as well. 

They talked for a while, arguing about what movie they would see or if Davey would propose to Jack or when Albert and Finch would finally bone. Spot spoke with his mouthful. 

“Everything good so far?” Their waiter asked as he walked past. 

“Delicious!” Spot shot him a thumbs up, just in case the poor fellow couldn’t understand the muffled word. 

Race rolled his eyes. “Have I ever told you that you’re the worst?” 

“You's love me.” Spot grinned and popped another spoonful of lobster mac and cheese in his mouth. “Thanks for orderin' me this. I's really like it.” 

The bastard. “I’m divorcing you.” 

Spot laughed. “We’s a'int even married,” he said. 

“Then I’m going to marry you, just so I can divorce you.” Race pointed at his boyfriend with the prongs of his fork before pooping his bite of food into his mouth. Across the table from him, Spot leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed and that stupid smirk on his face. 

God, even in that poorly put together Walmart outfit Spot managed to look hot. 

“Maybe we should skip the movie,” Race said. 

Spot grinned. “That’s the second-best decision you’s made all night.” 

Race arched a brow, leaning forward towards Spot. His movements were mimicked. He could feel the heat from Spot’s breath tickle his face. “Oh yeah? What was the first one?” 

“This mac and cheese.” 

“Oh, fuck me.” Race groaned. 

“Flag down our waiter and I's will.” 

“Check please!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos appreciated :))


End file.
